Of Daft Bints and Daredevils
by Satellite Heartbeats
Summary: "We are born, we go through the ministrations of life, we die. Such is the cycle of life. What we do in between doesn't matter. Our decisions and actions are pointless because no matter what we do, we will always get from point A to B. We are all fucked. We have been fucked from the very start." "You don't believe that," she said. "No, Granger. Maybe I don't." Oneshot. Complete.


**A/N:** I don't know where I find the time but this baby was made in the past 24 hours. Plot-wise, there isn't anything new, but I just felt like I needed to write it because Dramione discuss their imminent deaths sounded like a fun (yet morbid) idea. The smut scene in this piece isn't like the normals ones. It's actually kind of an odd mutation, a psuedo-literary onomatopoeia inspired by ee cummings' poem She Being Brand. I've been working on the next few chapters of In Loving Memory and will update soon but for now, let's all enjoy some Dramoine banter.

**Disclaimer:** JKR owns Harry Potter all the other stuff in the magical universe. I don't. Doesn't mean I don't wish I thought of them first, though.

* * *

_Of Daft Bints and Daredevils_

December 18, 1997 

"For being so damn smart, you are pretty bloody stupid, Granger."

They were seated beside each other on a tattered loveseat in the sitting room of12 Grimmauld Place, sipping tea by the fire, the only source of illumination seeing as it was past midnight. Winter was early this year, and by November, blizzards were a common occurrence. With the thickets of snow blanketing their surroundings, it was so easy to feel isolated. Especially since the only other people in the house were Molly Weasley and Neville, who was recovering from an injury. Everyone else was on a raid.

"Excuse me?" came Hermione's shrill reply. "Did you just call me stupid?"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about. Not only are you stupid, but you've gone deaf as well," Malfoy drawled.

"Care to tell me exactly why I'm stupid, Malfoy?" she huffed. "You are very wrong on that point, I assure you."

Hermione Granger was many things but stupid, deaf or _wrong_ she was not. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest, just underneath her bosom, raisin them slightly. Draco couldn't help but notice, because honestly, what male wouldn't? Mudblood or not, she was quite shaggable (not that he would tell her), and in the middle of a war, small things like this were what kept men and women sane. He would know. The walls of Grimmauld Place were very thin, after all.

"Well, first of all, you insisted we decorate for Christmas this year. We're all far too preoccupied with the war and instead of researching like you should be, you're busy hanging fairy lights like some oblivious, daft bint!"

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to boost the morale of the the Order, Draco," she spoke to him as if dealing with a naive child. "I only want them to have a little Christmas spirit as an escape from the madness of the world," replied an indignant Hermione.

"You want spirit? How about the spirit of our dead comrades? Is that enough _spirit_ for you? Would you like Mad-Eye's ghost popping in anytime soon for tea and crumpets?" he sneered.

Most nights, Draco lived to rile her up up. Literally live for it. Annoying Hermione Granger had always been a past time of his as a child, but now he did it not for recreational purposes, but because it was the only constant thing in his life now, almost the basis of his sanity so to speak. The world could go up in flames and he wouldn't go mad so long as he had Granger to aggravate.

There was no other reason he was fighting aside from wanting to make her flush in anger or passion, but mostly both. He never told her this, but she was most brilliant when she was furious; wayward curls haphazardly framing her reddened face, brown eyes alight with fire, lip pursed into a tight line. And oh, how he wanted to be the one to loosen those lips from their permanent scowl using his own. With girls like Granger, angry sex would be the best kind. Not that he would know. He wished he did, though.

Hermione looked at him as though she wanted to hex his balls off. He didn't mind - the look, not the hexing. Because honestly, she never looked more alive to him than when she was mad. And he needed her alive more than anything. Even though he wouldn't admit it, merely thinking of the alternative was already too much to bear.

She opened her mouth and he expected a witty comeback but her words confused him.

"And the second reason is...?"

_Second reason for what? Oh, right._

"Secondly, do you sincerely believe that Voldemort would hide one of his precious horcruxes in Hogwarts? After six years there, don't you think Potter would have sensed it somewhere?"

"I thought about that, yes. But don't you think the best hiding places are the most obvious ones simply because they are the last places we'll look?" She did have a point.

"Suppose you're right, Granger," he said. She scoffed in response, as if to say _of course I am_. "What if it is in Hogwarts? We cannot exactly prance in there, pick up the damn horcrux and be on our merry fucking way, can we?"

Her lips thinned even further. "No, we cannot. Not while _Snape_-" she spat his name. He winced. "-is headmaster. But if we ask nicely, especially if we ask the right people, then I know we can get in."

Draco didn't even bother scoffing at her delusional reply. No matter the circumstance, he always found the topic of Severus Snape a bit too tender to talk about. Dumbledore's murder and miscellaneous death eater activities aside, Snape was still his godfather - more of a father figure to him than Lucius himself. To be betrayed by a person he trusted so dearly was a dagger to the heart. As a Slytherin, Draco could count the number of people he trusted in one hand, and to lose even a single one was a blow to him.

Hermione saw the change in his face and understood the cause. His trademark smirk was replaced by a grimace. Her expression immediately softened, and she scooted closer to his side, placed her tea cup on the table and wrapped her arms around his middle.

In all the years that they had known each other, the only physical contact they had was the well-deserved slap he got from her in third year. It was only when she had both arms around him did she notice how cold the room was and how _good_ it felt to feel the warmth coming off of him. She would always see Malfoy as somewhat of a cold creature, what with his pale skin and silvery hair. If snow angels were real, he could stand in the middle of a blizzard and pass for one. For so long she associated Draco Malfoy with words like ice cold, sharp angles and hard surfaces. Oh, how wrong she was. Common sense told her that this warmth was to be expected, seeing as he was the only other warm-blooded person nearby. But it was so hard to wrap her head around the fact that he felt so alive, so real, so _human_ to her that she couldn't help but bury her head into the crook of his neck.

Malfoy stiffened at the feeling of her breath on his neck and something ignited in him. The scent of lilies and chocolate enveloped him like a caress, bewitching his senses. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was melt into her embrace, feel her skin against his and maybe, just maybe, get a taste of her, something he had been dying to do for months.

He put his cup of tea down, her body still clinging to his. He wouldn't admit it, but he wished she would never let go. He hadn't slept with anyone in months, and he'd be a fool to not notice how soft she was, how goosebumps erupted on the skin of his neck from her proximity. He wanted to find out exactly how pliable her sweet flesh was, _everywhere_.

"Granger," he rasped. She shifted a bit but made no move to untangle her arms from his form. He felt her lips moving against his neck, mumbling something so soft and muffled that he couldn't catch it.

"What did you say?"

She lifted her head just a bit, her mouth so close to his Adam's apple and she whispered, "I'm sorry."

He couldn't help it. Draco pulled her to his lap, wrapping his arms around her middle. Her own moved to his neck and he placed a featherlight kiss on her temple as a sign of accepting her apology. She sighed and closed her eyes, appreciating the warmth that could come only from another person, and also because hadn't been properly held like this in so long, maybe ever.

"Don't be. You're right, anyway," he said softly.

Malfoy was used to being abandoned and betrayed. In his very house in Hogwarts, backstabbing was common practice among children his age. To trust anyone, to let them in was a weakness. The barricades around his heart were always so strong, but it took an immense amount of effort to keep them up. As long as he stayed within the walls he so carefully constructed, no one could hurt him. But despite never being alone, he was still so lonely. One can only be detached for so long before they crave company after all.

And Granger was chalking up to be damn good company. The best kind, actually.

Hesitantly, he looked down and saw her staring up at him, brown eyes swimming. He was so close that he could see the small flecks of amber in her iris, the light dusting of freckles on her nose, the small mole just beneath her left eye.

Hermione Granger was never really the type to be complimented for her looks. Physically speaking, she was decent at best. But that didn't matter. She didn't need to look beautiful; she just was.

Before he knew it, his lips were on hers. Not even a kiss, just a tentative touch, until she felt the slightest pressure coming from his own and this time, he molded his lips to her, softly, as of testing the waters before jumping into a lake.

Her lips were slightly chapped from all the biting she did when she worried over her friends' safety and he wondered if she but her lip because of him, in worry or otherwise. He wouldn't mind either way.

Soon, the kiss progressed and his tongue ran lightly over her bottom lip, asking for permission. She granted it and his tongue plunged into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth, coaxing her own tongue in a battle with his. She tasted like chamomile tea and rain and he couldn't get enough.

Hands roamed and touched and squeezed and the kiss grew more passionate by the second. He was leaning over her now, pushing her down into the cushions of the loveseat, pinning her body with his. She broke the kiss and took a ragged breath as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

He was sure that whatever had come over them was gone. Things like this with girls like her were always meant to be fleeting. It would be pointless to expect her to want more. He could already imagine her overthinking, her thoughts in a jumble, wondering how to escape from his clutches.

She surprised him with her words instead.

"Bed. Now," she breathed.

Draco didn't need to think twice. In seconds he was already standing up, pulling her along with him and dragging her up the stairs to the bedrooms, leaving their cups of tea on the table, cold and forgotten.

Impatient as he was, he managed to be quiet enough so as not to wake the Weasley mother hen and Longbottom. If they found out, he was sure to be stopped before he could defile Granger. He needed his release and he would not let carelessness delay him.

After soundlessly slipping into a vacant room, he cast a silencing charm. While sex was the most practised form of release in Grimmauld Place, he didn't want anyone to know he was doing it with Granger. Knowing her, she would feel the same.

After finishing with the charm, he turned to find her on the bed, lying on her side and still dressed. He walked over and sank into the spot beside her, cupping her face before he kissed her again. This time, there were no hesitant touches. He plunged into her mouth immediately. Much like their bickering, she returned the favor with much fervor and enthusiasm. He wanted to know what it would be like to feel all of her, to be _inside_ of her, and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Not once did she break away and once the final button was popped open, she shrugged it off. Once the first article of clothing was divested, a frenzy descended upon remaining clothes followed suit so fast and soon, there were no barriers between them.

Hot open mouth kisses here and there, in the valley between soft mounds, on rosy little peaks. Long, wet licks around clavicles, hands groping and squeezing softly then harder and harder and harder and small whimpers swallowed whole in searing kisses.

It was messy. It was frantic. It was so fucking _good._

Finally, oh sweet Merlin, finally he was in her.

Hot and slick and so bloody tight, she wrapped around him, let him in, all the way. Gasps of pain muffled as her teeth sunk into the the flesh of his shoulder and everything was still. So very still.

After an eternity, he moved. Slightly. Slow-ly.

In. Out. In.

A litany of _yes, more_ and _please _over and over again. Moans and whimpers and pants and -

Faster and harder and deeper than ever before. Then slow-ly, in, out, in.

Chest heaving and heart racing. Faster, faster, faster -

Sweat soaked skin slapping against skin, lips and tongue running over a flushed neck tasting so much like soap, salt and girl-

Lip bites and feverish kisses and nails raking over back, leaving angry red lines.

Alternate rhythms of fast and shallow, slow and hard. Slender legs wrapped around a narrow waist, ankles locked, pushing in, in, in.

A hundred "oh, holy fucks" and a thousand more "oh, please - yes, right there." A moan. A hiss. A sigh. "Yesssss."

Toes curling and eyes rolling to the back of their heads.A groan. A shudder.

And it was over. All was still.

* * *

Before dawn broke, remaining members of the Order Apparated to the front of headquarters.

By sunrise, everyone was awake and gathered at the kitchen, Draco and Hermione included. No one spoke a word. The dull gray of the outside matched the moods of the Order members. A ragged-looking Harry spoke up to break the tension.

"We managed to capture Macnair and send him off to trusted Ministry officials for interrogation. Dolohov was severely injured but escaped. Death eater casualties are Yaxley and Crabbe Sr.. Around seven Death Eaters were accounted for, but aside from those mentioned, everyone escaped. One of them was positively identified as Lucius Malfoy."

Harry looked at Draco, who gave him a curt nod. It was Potter's way of saying that Lucius was still alive. Death Eater or not, he was still Draco's father and he had every right to know how he was doing.

Once again, silence engulfed them. The sombre mood was nearly suffocating and Hermione could not understand why. She looked at the faces of the Order members, all showing varying degrees of exhaustion and sorrow, assessing them one by one until she made a startling realization: two of them were missing. She sucked in a breath and held it in for as long as she could.

"Where's Ron and Lupin?" she whispered, not trusting her voice to speak louder than that. Even without an answer, tears began to well in her eyes.

No one looked at her until Kingsley, who was sitting beside her, broke the silence.

"Ron has been injured," he said quietly. "Remus is dead."

She stayed still, the only display of emotion on her face was the lone tear making its way down her cheek. Refusing to show weakness, she steeled her resolve to not feel anything until she felt an arm on her shoulder and turned, seeing Draco with a somber look on his otherwise emotionless face.

Not wanting to lose it in front of so many people, she quietly stood and left for her room where she could mourn on her own, Draco trailing behind her.

No one noticed how they left together, too absorbed in their own grief. Had they an ounce of perceptiveness, they would have found it odd to see Granger and Malfoy holding hands as they walked up the stairs, but more pressing matters were at hand.

Once they made it inside the room and locked the door, she turned and buried herself in Draco's chest. He feared she was being too silent until he felt more than heard her great, heaving sobs reverberating against his chest. Small fists pummeled his chest as she let all the anger and the hurt take over. Draco understood her need to destroy things in her grief, for she, much like him, had quite the temper and right now, that temper was directed at the universe, at Voldemort and his followers, at _anyone _she could find and pin the blame on for the loss of a friend. He squeezed her middle tighter and her hands came around his neck, almost as if hanging on for dear life.

Picking her up carefully as though she were made of porcelain, he walked to the bed and placed her on the mattress gently before lying down himself. She placed her head on his chest, just above his heart, a hand over her stomach and her leg over his hips. She trembled as she cried, her tears staining the front of Draco's shirt. She alternated between fits of rage where she would beat his chest with her tightly clenched fists as though she wanted to dig her way into him and let him consume her, and episodes of pure anguish where she would sob so hard she couldn't breathe and her grip on him became vice tight, desperately clinging as though she could melt into him and let him swallow her whole She'd do anything to feel numb.

Rubbing soothing circles on her back, he held her until she quieted down after what seemed like hours of crying. Her soft hiccoughing gasps were soon replaced by slow, even breathing and he looked down only to find her fast asleep. Following suit, he closed his eyes and succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

Hours later, she awoke to the feeling of calloused fingertips playing with the hair on the nape of her neck. Slowly, she opened her eyes to find Malfoy with his other arm beneath his head, staring at the ceiling.

She cleared her throat a bit, catching his attention. He looked down to find a blank expression on her face. Hermione opened her mouth and whispered a thank you for his comfort. Not daring to ruin the moment by speaking, he shrugged in acknowledgment of her gratitude.

"Granger?" he asked softly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you fear death?" he asked almost nonchalantly. Malfoy was a great actor, trying to pass of the question as something light. But the catch in his throat at the end belied his intention.

She was silent for minute. He feared that he had offended her until she replied.

"Yes and no."

"What do you mean?" He asked, perplexed.

"Yes, I fear death. But not for myself. I fear how my death can affect others, how it might cause them pain," she explained

Draco snorted. "I should have known you would say something like that. Always thinking of others, you Gryffindor lot. Not an ounce of self-preservation in that delectable body of yours."

She chuckled for a second at his remark then quieted down before reciprocating the question.

"Are _you_ afraid of death, Malfoy?"

She watched as the smirk left his face. His expression immediately sobered before he spoke.

"No, Granger. I haven't been afraid of death for the longest time."

His response shocked her. She would have expected him to say he valued his life above any other, although to admit fear was showing weakness and Malfoys never show weakness.

"That's a lie," she softly countered.

Before she continued on about how he was merely pretending to be strong, he cut her off.

"Whether you believe it our not, it is the truth. I do not fear death; I fear dying. There is a difference. We are all going to die. Fearing something that is natural is pointless. Whether we end up being good or bad, it doesn't make a difference. Born into this world only to be condemned to death at one point." She was about to interrupt when he continued.

"We are born, we go through the many ministrations of life, we die. Such is the cycle of life. What we do in between is of no importance. Our decisions and actions are pointless because no matter what we do, we will always, always get from point A to B. We are all fucked. We have been fucked from the very start."

"You don't believe that," she interjected.

"No, Granger. Maybe I don't." he whispered softly. "But it still doesn't change the fact that what we do with our lives won't matter," he defended then went on.

"There are those who do as much as they possibly can to delay their imminent demise by repeatedly fixing their bodies and then there are those who believe they can cheat death completely by resorting to darker ways, like Voldemort. They are both equally as foolish, mostly because they are in denial about the fact that one day, they will cease to be. These pitiful bastards are only prolonging the inevitable, as though death were nothing but a figment of their imagination which, if they pretended enough, won't happen to them. It's all bullshit, really."

"The thing is, regardless of who we are and what we do, we all share the same fate. We were all born to die," he finished softly.

Overwhelmed at the sudden flow of words from Draco's mouth, she lifted her head and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

"If that is how you think all the time, it's no wonder all your robes are black and you mope all the time," she mused in hopes of lightening the situation. Her efforts were not in vain as he let out a small chuckle.

"It's not moping, Granger, it's brooding. Chits find that attractive."

"They do not! Well, at least, I don't."

"Well, up until earlier this morning, I wasn't entirely sure you were even female and even if you do have the rights bits - and I must say, what lovely bits they are indeed - you do not think like a normal woman should," he smirked.

She blushed, both from slight embarrassment and a hint of indignation for question her femininity. She was about to reply with an equally witty retort about how effeminate he was when she remembered something he said.

"Malfoy?" she asked, tracing his jaw with her fingers as though she was trying to soothe him before she asked her question.

"What is it?"

She hesitated, then opened her mouth. "Will you tell me about your fear of dying?"

He stiffened beside her and she feared she crossed a line but he made no move to extricate himself from her embrace. Instead of answering her, he deflected.

"How do you think you will die, Granger?" he whispered, so softly she almost missed it. Having been caught of guard, she thought of her answer for a few minutes.

"I, uh- well, I used to hope I would die of old age," she began, "- but then having met Harry and Ron, I have lived through many near death experiences. I can't say how exactly I will die, but recently, I've accepted that it might happen soon."

"How very morbid of you. I didn't expect this considering how _optimistic_ you seemed. Oh, how wrong I was."

"Shut it, Malfoy and let me finish."

Draco looked sheepish for interrupting, or as close to sheepish as he could manage considering he was a Malfoy and all.

"If you're asking me how I want to die, then don't interrupt me again, understood?" She didn't wait for his response before he spoke again.

"Frankly, if I were to die, I'd prefer to be on the receiving end of an Avada during battle while protecting Harry mostly because it seems like a peaceful death. I'm too scared of dying a painful death and that way, if the Killing Curse is indeed painful, then at least it will last only a moment before life leaves me body."

Oddly, Hermione's tone was contemplative, as though they were discussing Arithmancy homework and not the many ways she could perish. Draco's voice filled her head, breaking her from her reverie.

"Don't be such a daft bint. There is no peaceful death in battle. Although I have to agree with you. I'd much rather die quickly than suffer. Reminds me of sixth year in the girl's bathroom with Potter. I was so sure I would die because the pain clouded all reason," he finished with a whisper.

Opting not to reply, she placed a lingering kiss on his temple in an effort to comfort him. His fear wasn't of dying, per se. It was fear of pain.

"You won't die," she whispered. It was a lie and they both knew it, but she just had to say something to keep him from brooding.

"I wish that were true. But war puts our mortality into perspective. If I believe I won't die in battle, I'll be a bloody fool like Voldemort. I will die. It is only a matter of where and when and how. I won't delude myself into thinking otherwise."

"Although," he continued, uncharacteristic humor to his tone," -before I die, I managed to shag the untouchable Hermione Granger. Not many men can say the same."

She slapped his shoulder playfully in retaliation and let out a contented sigh. At least she was distracted from the grief surrounding the house with Ron's injury and Lupin's death. Before she could stop herself, she lifted herself up and straddled his waist, lowering her face towards him, her hair framing them both, adding more privacy to their exchange.

She looked into his eyes, really _looked_ at them, her own eyes swirling with emotion before she spoke.

"Promise me you won't be stupid. That you won't be some misguided daredevil playing hero," she implored. Noting the serious tone in her voice he swallowed and whispered, "I won't. "

His words elicited a smile from her. Small, but still genuine. She hadn't smiled and meant it in so long.

"Besides," he added, "-all that hero bullshit is something I'll save for you Gryffindors. I'm nowhere near righteous - or stupid - enough to be some twisted daredevil."

"But daredevils often bask in the admiration of other people. Heroes are always on the receiving end of litanies of praise. You'd be celebrated, admired, glorified. Knowing you, that's exactly the kind of thing you live for."

"While it is true that I love basking in glory and receiving unending praise, it isn't worth risking my own skin for."

"Now that's the Malfoy we all know and hate," she joked. :I was wondering where you went. You seemed to be going dare I say it,_ soft_?"

The corner of his mouth lifted up slightly. "There is nothing soft about me and you know it. But I'll remind you just to be sure," he purred.

Lowering her head towards his, their lips met in a gentle kiss that grew more heated by the minute.

That night, they forgot to use a silencing spell.

* * *

May 2, 1998

Draco left on a mission to follow Death Eaters recruiting magical beasts the day after Lupin and Ron died, after his talk with Hermione about his fear of dying.

She hadn't seen him since.

Hermione had no time to wonder if he was dead or alive, captured or running free. She had no time to think because her mind was far too preoccupied with fighting at the moment.

Bodies strewn all around the grounds of Hogwarts, rubble and smoke and fire everywhere. It was a glorious sight, if one found death and destruction particularly glorious.

Hermione had just finished stupefying three werewolves when the tip of a wand made contact with the small of her back.

In the midst of the battle, it was odd how unperturbed they were - she and her would-be murderer. She watched the chaos around them seemingly slow to an unnatural pace, how, at seconds before her imminent death, she managed to perceive such details of her surroundings.

"Now, now, little mudblood. It seems we meet again."

The blood in her veins froze. She knew that voice.

_Lucius Malfoy. _

_ot__him. Anyone but him. _

The wand in her back further dug into her flesh but before she could let out a whimper, the pressure was gone. She turned around only to find Lucius loosely gripping his wand, hands in the air in a mock surrender.

"Drop the wand, father."

_Draco._ _He's alive._

The three of them seemed isolated from the madness unfurling. Hermione stared at Draco, rugged and bloody and covered in mud, but very much alive, and relief washed over her. But it was short lived as she sobered up, remembering where she was.

"Come to protect your little mudblood whore, have you, son?" he sneered. "I never imagined you stooping so low as to enjoy fucking an animal."

Hermione pointed her wand at Lucius in case he tried to escape again. Dueling with his father was probably more that\n Draco could handle and he would need all the help he could get.

"Well, go ahead, Draco. _Kill me_. Go on. I'm even giving you a clear shot," he taunted.

Draco hesitated for just a moment, until he opened his mouth to say the words.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Everything happened so fast as though in a blur. A flash of green light hit him square in the chest, and Hermione screamed as Draco's lifeless body crumpled to the ground. Before Lucius had the chance to face her, she screamed, "Sectumsempra!"

The elder Malfoy hit the ground with a thud, landing right next to the body of his son. Rivers of crimson flowed from the wounds on his back and chest, leaving him in a pool of his own blood. Hermione assumed he was dead until she saw his chest heave in shallow, nearly imperceptible pants.

"Have fun rotting in hell with Voldemort, Lucius," she whispered before leaving to join Harry in battle.

* * *

June 5, 1998

"... bravery is found in the hearts of men who know fear, compassion in the hearts of those who know suffering, love in the hearts of those who have lived through hate. The 129 people who sacrificed their lives on these very grounds only a month before in the name of the Light will never be forgotten. So long as magic continues to exist, we will be forever indebted to those who fought courageously for the peace we are now blessed with. May we move on from the tragedies of the war but hold dear in our hearts the memories of our fallen comrades. This memorial erected in the place of the final battle here in Hogwarts is only a small testament of our unending gratitude towards the hundreds of men and women who will forever be remembered as heroes."

The end of Kingsley Shacklebolt's speech was met with deafening applause. As new Minister of Magic, his words aimed to touch the hearts of all the members of British wizarding society. Hundreds of people gathered at Hogwarts to watch the minister descend from the stage to unveil the newly erected monument near the southern border of the school grounds.

Hermione would have clapped as well, except her eyes were unfocused, a faraway look on her face. A nudge to her rib and she snapped out of it and looked to her side, at Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. Before she could retaliate with a nudge of her own, she was called to the podium. One Sonorus charm and a deep breath later, she began to speak.

"Instead of a speech about bravery and sacrifice and other things you have heard before, I would like to tell you all a story," she said.

"I have known Harry Potter for around eight years now. In all our years at Hogwarts, we managed to get in all sorts of trouble along with my friend, the late Ron Weasley.

"We faced dangerous creatures, shady characters and dire circumstances on a regular basis. With a load of courage, a heap of stupidity, some common sense and a dash of luck, we survived and were proclaimed as heroes of some sort every time. It was expected of Harry, after all, he did face Voldemort twice and lived to tell the tale," she said, glancing at her best friend.

"Harry sacrificed himself many times over for the greater good. He never failed to protect the weak, fight the forces of the Dark, and most of all, care for the people around him. Because of this, we see him as a hero," she paused, gathering her thoughts.

"But let me tell you all about another kind of hero we fail to acknowledge. I have known Draco Malfoy just as long as I have known Harry. He was also a student at Hogwarts. However, unlike Harry, Draco and I never got along. I would go as far as saying we loathed each other. But we overcame our differences in the name of the Light.

"Draco was nothing like Harry. Born to a family of Death Eaters, prejudiced against people who he believed had a lower blood status, and cruel to those he believed inferior to him. We were all convinced that he would be a Death Eater in the near future. Despite this, he broke from the mold only to emerge as a hero of the war. I'd go as far as saying he is as much as, if not braver than Harry and I for refusing to conform to Death Eater ideals. He went against his family and friends, against Voldemort and his followers, against even all the things he believed in that made him who he was simply because he believed in the goodness of the Light. No one expected Draco Malfoy to fight alongside us, no one expected him to defy his family, no one expected him to rise above the expectations, which is why he is the most extraordinary of us all to have done what he did." Hermione was openly crying now, tears streaming down her face. Her voice broke several times but she concluded the speech.

"I ask that we remember all of those who have fallen but more importantly, I hope we remember that goodness lies in all men, that we are not defined by the blood in our veins and the last name that we have and the house we belonged to. We may rise above any expectation because our destiny lies in our hands. We will always have a choice, and in this instance, Draco Malfoy chose right."

Instead of applause, the end of Hermione's speech was met with tear-streaked faces full of hope. It would seem almost rude to applaud the death of person, no matter how noble they were.

She made her way down the stage and towards the memorial dedicated to Draco, a silver plaque on the huge marble statue, an emerald green dragon engraved beside his name, birth date and death date.

"It's a shame you left us. I have a present for you but you need to be here to receive it. It is your birthday after all."

"You broke your promise, you know," she whispered. "You said you wouldn't be some sort of daredevil or hero but you lied. Had you not interfered, you probably would have been alive today. Still, I am grateful all the same. More than you'll ever know."

She stood there for what felt like hours, remembering what she could of him. Hermione was interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of the grass crunching beneath someone's feet.

In her peripheral vision, a figure with pale blonde hair and skin stood to her right. She turned to face the figure, expecting to see Draco but was met with long hair, a short frame and older, feminine features. Narcissa Malfoy, despite her age, was still quite a sight. While Draco looked much like his father, he had a grace and softness to him that he could only have inherited from Narcissa.

Not trusting her voice, she remained silent and stared at the memorial lest she ruin the moment with unnecessary condolences. They stood in peaceful silence for a while until Narcissa spoke.

"Thank you," she said, "-for saying such lovely things about Draco."

"They were true, though. I meant every word I said."

She gave the older woman the privacy she needed to mourn her son before leaving, muttering a quick goodbye and birthday greeting to the memorial, as though it were not inanimate and would talk back.

Hermione slowly walked away from the memorial but paused, facing the monument.

"It seems too late to say this, but I do hope you got over your fear of dying, Draco."


End file.
